


each to other bound

by Elizabeth (anghraine)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Brother/Sister Incest, F/M, Families of Choice, Family Drama, M/M, Threesome - F/M/M, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-22 20:19:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8299537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anghraine/pseuds/Elizabeth
Summary: Han, Luke, and Leia, figuring out family—family by upbringing, family by blood, family by choice.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Eternal Scribe (Shadowcat)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowcat/gifts).



> I was aiming for the slice of life you asked for, and it became a bit more involved in the family dramas than I'd planned: part dealing with the Skywalker legacy, part recovering the Naberrie one, part fumbling through it all as the family they've established for themselves. I hope the latter works for your prompt!

A week after the Endor victories, Han tinkered with the _Falcon_ while Luke and Leia stood on their hands, and she tried to move rocks with her mind. She’d admitted privately that she wasn’t sure she wanted to be a Jedi, but she was sure she didn’t want to be the passive vessel of some cosmic power.

_The Force will always be with me_ , she said, something alarmingly like reverence touching her fierce voice. It reminded him of Ben Kenobi. But Alderaan had always been full of mystics and mumbo-jumbo. _If I don’t control it, it’ll control me._

Han himself was slightly disturbed and slightly intrigued, but otherwise didn’t much care. He’d go where the twins went, regardless.

After fixing some damned ‘adjustments’ to his ship, he wandered off to find Lando and maybe try a round of cards. Luck was with him; he walked right into a group of pilots. Rogue Squadron, he thought immediately.

“Sorry about that.”

“No problem,” said Wedge. “Hey, have you seen Luke around?”

“Not for a couple hours. He’s probably with Leia,” Han said absently. They were high on a ledge, overlooking the bridge where he’d had that last fit of jealousy. Peering down, he could just make out two slight figures in green capes. They must have been practicing outside the base.

Perfectly unconcerned, he pointed downwards. “Yeah, there they are.”

Wedge was too prissy to stare. The other pilots gaped at him, though, and Han remembered that nobody else knew. He’d never thought of himself as a proud man, but he was abruptly very glad that they’d decide to hide the Vader thing and not the twin thing. It’d be … weird if people thought they were both Leia’s lovers. Well, knew. He was just glad he hadn’t been with Luke before now. He’d thought about it, choking on jealousy of both, their easy, tactile affection, the tight circle they drew around themselves. And now—just, it’d be awkward to explain. Very, very awkward.

“You know Leia’s adopted?” he said, strolling over to the edge of the landing. The smaller figure—he could just make out Leia’s braids—shoved the other, and they laughed, the sound clearly audible to the men above. Han turned back around, leaning on the railing.

“Everyone knows that,” said Wedge, sounding curious. Behind him, Hobbie shifted his weight uncomfortably.

Well, Luke and Leia had said they wanted people to know. Telling a bunch of pilots was probably the fastest way. They talked like old Rodians.

“They discovered her birth name awhile back,” Han went on.

“Yeah?” said Wedge blankly.

Han couldn’t resist a dramatic pause. “Skywalker.”

Even Wedge’s jaw dropped. Wes Janson’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head.

“Luke and the Princess are _related?_ ” said Hobbie.

“That’s one way of putting it.” Han grinned. “They’re twins.”

The only way this moment could be better, he decided, was if Artoo were here to record it for posterity. They gaped at him, shocked into silence for seconds.

“You’re shitting us,” Wes said. Wedge, though, had that same look of dawning understanding that Han suspected had been imprinted on his own face for the last week.

Okay, maybe not exactly the same. Wedge probably hadn’t been talking sense into a pair of neurotic twins.

Han laughed. “I couldn’t make this up. And it means she’s basically a wizard, which is … yeah.” He fished out his deck of cards. “So. Any of you got the guts for a game with Lando and me?”

 

* * *

Over a year after Luke wandered out of the Alliance, and some eight months after Leia joined him, Han in tow, the hologram arrived.

Han had left three days earlier, on some matter of business that involved Lando, Chewie, Chewie’s unpronounceable home planet, and beans. Leia didn't care to inquire further. Well, regardless of whatever laws he might or might not be dodging at that very moment, the end result was that only Luke was with her when she received the holoprojector.

She scrutinized the projector.

“Pooja Naberrie,” she read, and their eyes widened. They weren’t at all sure that their mother was Senator Amidala—not sure enough to approach her family, at any rate. A few weeks ago, Luke had announced that their mother’s name was Padmé, which would have seemed oddly specific if Obi-Wan hadn’t told her that Anakin’s frequent conversations with Luke were one of the innumerable points of contention between them and the other Jedi. Luke himself never talked about it, and Leia habitually avoided all mention of their natural father, so the matter had fallen into the small group of things which were not to be discussed.

In any case, _Padmé_ was little enough to go on, and even the additional discovery that they’d been born Luke Anakin and Leia Amidala Skywalker wasn’t entirely certain. The Empire’s reinvention of history had been very thorough, so they’d only found a few pictures of Amidala, all but one too unclear to match with Leia’s foggy memories. That one exception had been taken during Amidala’s tenure as queen, and Leia couldn’t be sure, but it didn’t _feel_ like her mother.

Luke, undoubtedly, would ask his father the next time he showed up, but Leia doubted Anakin Skywalker could simply be summoned. She’d never tried, of course, but even Obi-Wan appeared and disappeared at his own discretion; Vader seemed hardly likely to be more accommodating. Besides, she didn’t need his help. They could unravel their past on their own.

“That’s Senator Naberrie?” Luke said.

Leia nodded. “Senator Amidala was her aunt.”

They traded one anxious look, then Leia switched the projector on. In a flash of light, the ten-inch figure of Pooja Naberrie appeared in front of them, dressed in the same Naboo silks that Leia remembered.

“General Organa,” the figure declared, “my mother, Sola Naberrie, believes you and your brother may be her sister’s children. If you are willing, we would be honoured to receive you at our home in Theed, at any time convenient for you.”

The hologram disappeared. They both stared at where it had been.

“She’s very …”

“Abrupt,” said Leia. “But she always was. What do you think?”

“We have to know,” he said. He seemed a little disturbed. “But if this Sola is our aunt, then why—”

They looked at each other.

“I don’t know,” Leia admitted. “But we’ll want to hear it from her.”

Luke just nodded.

One week later, Han, Luke, and Leia arrived at Theed. Humans, droids, and the occasional floppy-eared alien bustled around in rich robes and, often, elaborate headdresses. Water gurgled all around them in fountains and streams along the way, feeding the vines and flowers that flourished everywhere. Something about the architecture distinctly reminded Leia of Alderaan.

She glanced at her brother, who was staring around with wide, awestruck eyes. Leia bit back a smile. No matter where he went, he always seemed to carry the desert with him.

“It’s beautiful,” Luke said, and flicked a nonexistent scrap off his trousers. Without consciously consulting each other, they’d both worn traditional Jedi robes. Luke, Leia thought affectionately, might very well not know even why, but she couldn’t help but feel more secure with millennia of authority visibly behind her, her unneeded lightsaber at her waist.

“Hard to believe it’s Palpatine’s home world,” she remarked.

“The Emperor came from _here?_ ”

“He was the senator for Naboo before Amidala,” said Leia. “He mentored her when she went into politics.”

Han’s lip curled. “How altruistic of him. Which way are we going?”

She pointed, and they walked down the streets, ignoring the occasional curious stares from passers-by. The buildings seemed to grow closer together, and Leia stopped below a stone bridge, checking her datapad for the address.

Just past the bridge, a narrow staircase curved up to a sprawling building. A woman in a rich, embroidered cloak stood near it, apparently aimless. But as Leia scowled at the glitchy datapad, the woman turned to them with a smile.

“General Organa?”

It wasn’t Pooja, who had a round face and a head full of golden-brown curls. The woman was slimmer and paler, with glossy hair the colour of Leia’s, and large dark eyes. Leia swallowed. She could almost wish this was an assassin. Until that moment, she hadn’t realized that, perhaps, she didn’t want to know. She’d had all the family she needed in her parents.

But they were dead. And Luke—

She _loved_ him, him and Han, but of course that couldn’t be the same. Long before they knew where that instinctive bond came from, the perfect understanding at the backs of their minds, they’d loved each other. Too much, anyone but the three of them would say—the Naberries would certainly say. More people to keep secrets from.

But she was Leia Organa. She didn’t back away from anything, once she started. Luke was warm and reassuring in her mind, and beneath that, anxious. And Han didn’t barge in, just waited at her side, for her lead.

“Yes,” Leia told the woman.

“I’m Ryoo Naberrie,” she said. “My sister Pooja talked to you? Though I’m sure _talked_ is putting it strongly.”

They laughed, and it almost sounded natural.

“She was just how I remembered her,” said Leia.

Ryoo grinned. “I bet she was. Well, come on up!” As they climbed the stairs after her, she went on, “Pooja was a lawyer, you know, before the Senate, and you’d know that Imperial City didn’t exactly make people less cautious. So she keeps talking about proof and probability and all that, but we’re really quite sure. Oh, here we are!”

To Leia’s vast relief, only two others waited for them inside—Pooja, and an elegant woman with even darker hair than Leia’s and Ryoo’s, almost black, and threaded with grey.

“I’ve got them, Mom!” said Ryoo. “This is General Organa, of course, and …” Her eyes flicked between the men. Unerringly, she gestured at Luke, and said, “You must be Commander Skywalker. And here, General Solo.”

“Luke is fine,” said Luke, echoed by Han.

The older woman extended her hand. “I am Sola Naberrie. I think you know Pooja?”

“Princess Leia does,” Pooja said. “But I’m sure they could figure it out. Let’s not waste their time.”

Ryoo and Sola both laughed, but willingly enough ushered everyone into a long, airy room, sunshine pouring through the large windows. Sola seated them all at the table and pressed fruit on them, while anxiety all but rolled off of her.

“We wondered when we heard about you, Luke,” said Ryoo, ignoring her mother. “Uncle Anakin was the only Skywalker we’d ever heard of.”

Han started. Luke and Leia burst out,

_“Uncle Anakin?”_

“It’s a bit silly,” Pooja said. She nibbled on a berry. “We didn’t know he was our uncle then.”

In a stage whisper, Ryoo said, “Pooja doesn’t even remember. ” She shook her head. “But I do. He was with Aunt Padmé every time she came home. Mom guessed the truth.”

That was something else Leia hadn’t really thought about.

From childhood, she’d felt a certain wistful affection for the mother she dimly remembered—had visions of, she knew now. Her parents never tried to make her choose between the remembered mother and the living one; when she first asked about the sad, dark-eyed woman, they said without hesitation, _she was your mother._ They’d encouraged her, always, to respect and care for that woman as her mother, who had loved her, had wanted her, would have raised her had she lived. So tracking down her mother was one thing.

But she hadn’t quite connected that kindly, lovely woman with the reality that Vader had sired them. She hadn’t imagined how it would have happened—well, she didn’t _want_ to imagine.

Alarmed distaste echoed in Luke’s mind, too, if more weakly. It was Han who calmed them, though without trying; they almost laughed outright at his look of dawning horror.

“I didn’t guess the truth,” Sola was saying. “I thought there was something between them, to be sure. When Padmé told me she was pregnant, I assumed he was the father—she’d never had any other serious relationships. But it was only after she died that I realized she was his …” She shook her head, soft voice trailing off.

Han stared at Sola much as he would look at a five-way starship crash. “His …?”

“Wife,” said Ryoo. “Aunt Padmé’s things came to us, but it hit everyone pretty hard. We didn’t go through them for a long time. That was when we found the marriage lines.”

“They were hidden in tax policy holoprints,” Pooja said approvingly.

Despite herself, Leia smiled. “Good for her. You’re sure it was…” She made a vague gesture.

“Oh, they did it all properly,” said Pooja. “Witnesses, a registered priest, everything. Aunt Padmé knew Republic law backwards and forwards. And the lines say _Padmé Naberrie_ and _Anakin Skywalker_ , clear as day. We can show you.”

“Uncle Anakin was always kind to us,” Ryoo said. “It was nice to know.”

Kind to _them_? When Vader had—

Leia’s nails dug so hard into her hands that Luke winced. Under the table, he reached over and pried them open. Han’s stunned expressed turned to concern.

“Really?” he said. “I … uh, wouldn’t have pictured him as exactly kid-friendly.”

“Oh, very friendly,” replied Sola. “Uncomfortable, I think, but any Jedi apprentice would be. They weren’t much for families. I wish we’d gotten pictures of Padmé and Anakin together, but I’m afraid we don’t have any of him. Mother tried, once, but he was always moving. I remember him well enough, though. A nice-looking boy—big blue eyes, cleft in the chin. Fair hair: brownish blond.” Her eyes settled on Luke.

“But tall,” Ryoo added. “Very tall.”

“Yes,” said Leia, unable to help herself. “I know.”

The gentle touch of Luke’s hand tightened. Han tried to smile at her, though it was more of a contorted grimace than anything else. With Han, it was the thought that mattered.

“When we first heard about a rogue Skywalker,” Ryoo added, “we thought it might be Uncle Anakin. That he’d escaped, somehow. But, of course, as soon as we read the description, we knew it couldn’t be.”

“Too short, huh?” said Han, teasing aimed at Leia as much as Luke.

“You both do have Padmé’s build.” Sola gave a real smile. “She was about your height, Leia.”

Han grinned. “Tiny, then.”

“She seemed so tall to me,” said Ryoo. “It was strange to look back at the holos and see how little she was.”

To Luke, Sola said, “It was your age, of course. You had to be born about the time that Padmé died. I wondered, of course, but we were told that Padmé’s child died with her, and that was so little … there was no reason Anakin couldn’t have had relations your age. It wasn’t necessarily anything to do with Padmé.”

“But you changed your mind,” said Leia.

“That was you,” she said.

Leia blinked.

“You told me once that you were born on the first Empire Day,” Pooja said. “The very day that Aunt Padmé died. I recalled that, when we heard that you were Luke Skywalker’s twin. It seemed a few too many coincidences.”

“Unless,” Sola said, anxious again, “your father was someone else altogether.”

He was. He _was._

“No,” said Luke. “Father was Anakin Skywalker. He … I was told that my mother’s name was Padmé.”

Sola and Ryoo beamed. Even Pooja looked pleased.

“We don’t want to force anything on you,” Sola went on, “but if you would like to stay, we have rooms, or … you can see her pictures and clothes, ask anything, or … well, anything. Padmé, you know, wanted to bring you home, raise you here.” She swallowed. “You will always be welcome.”

Leia didn’t know what she felt. She wasn’t sure she knew how to feel it, whatever _it_ might be. Luke seemed intrigued, though with a strain of resentment she didn’t quite understand. And she couldn’t repress the realization, his or hers—she couldn’t always tell these days—that the Naberries hadn’t _known._ Nobody had gotten Sola Naberrie’s permission to take her sister’s children. Nobody had asked her, had even told her they lived. These people had lost their sister, daughter, aunt, then lost her children too, any chance to care for them, to even miss them. And the Naberries were the last bridge to the woman she’d known only as _Mother._

“Thank you,” she said. “I think we would like that.”

Leia laced her fingers through Luke’s, and managed to smile at Han, real gratitude turning it natural. She didn’t need more family than this. But it felt right. Her family would approve.

All of them.

* * *

 

Late that night, Luke gazed up at the sky from the balcony on his chamber. Above him, stars shone bright and clear, the constellations almost exactly the ones he’d known on Tatooine. Apparently, Naboo wasn’t that far off.

It felt far.

He liked Aunt Sola and the cousins. And _liking_ couldn’t encompass everything he’d felt on looking at his mother’s face for the first time. He knew it was her even before Leia’s flash of recognition. They saw the fragments of her life, the determined girl growing into a principled, fearless woman. Beautiful and kind, definitely—not sad, so much, but the end hadn’t come yet. She would have had reasons enough for that, later.

But for him, it would have been hard, without Han and Leia. He could hardly believe that any part of him came from this place, seething with prosperity. On Tatooine, one of his mother’s magnificent gowns could have bought a retinue of slaves. Instead she’d married one.

He wished he’d known her, this. Instead, he’d always been entirely a Skywalker, son and grandson of slaves. A freeborn desert rat kicking up a storm, like his father. That had formed him, made him what he was. No wonder his father had been uncomfortable here. He must have felt he was drowning in abundance.

“Bet you he’s staring at nothing again,” Han said loudly outside his door. “Is that some Jedi thing or what?”

“Don’t be an idiot,” said Leia, in a tone that made it practically an endearment, and walked right in. She sat down and started peeling off her boots.

Luke had just enough pride to feel rather silly that the room immediately seemed less foreign.

“You all right, kid?” Han said, slinging his coat over a chair.

“Yeah.” He stopped to think about it, walking over to help Leia with her braids. Han could never manage her hairpins. And just like that, the absurdly picturesque room in his aunt’s house was as much home as anywhere else. “Yeah, actually.”

Leia was looking at the mirror in front of her: not her own reflection, but his. “It’s all true. Everything. Were you already sure?”

“When we came? No,” said Luke. He looked at her hair spilling over his hands. It was the same as Ryoo’s, exactly the same. As their mother’s—Padmé had worn the sort of elaborate coils that Leia liked, too. “Not completely. But it felt right.”

It was easy to imagine her here, growing up here, one more Naberrie folded discreetly in. It would be a life of ease and comfort, far from the glare of the Core, before she flung herself into the war. She’d always do that. And Leia Naberrie would have known, from the first, exactly what Anakin Skywalker’s son must be to her. They would never have had this.

Han swore at his boots. Luke and Leia, who could have removed them in an instant, just laughed at him.

“Yeah, see if I let your aunt kiss me again,” he said. “What is this place, anyway? I’m gonna smell like flowers for the next month.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about that,” said Leia dryly.

“Anyway, didn’t need hocus-pocus—or _any_ details about how your mother and you-know-who produced you two—to know it was true,” Han said. “I guessed the minute I looked at Sola. Are you two planning on sticking around?”

“We’ve got work to do,” Leia said, though Luke could sense her uncertainty. “It can’t be that long.”

“Right,” said Luke. “And we all know it’s not safe.”

Neither Han nor Leia were dishonest enough to pretend they didn’t understand. Leia nodded. Han said,

“Yeah. I was wondering … yeah.” He stuck his hands in his pockets, glancing from one twin to the other. “I’m the one who—you’re sure about this?”

Luke knew what Han didn’t: even if they’d wanted, it was too late to turn back now. Leia would tell him about the baby in her own time. But, secrets and all, he didn’t want to. He loved Han, and his sister was in his soul. Leia felt the same, he knew.

“We’re sure,” the twins said.


End file.
